


Louis and The Four Seasons

by cheshireflowers



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 60's AU, Drabble, Frankie Valli - Freeform, M/M, Song Lyrics, Songfic, bun harry makes an appearance, if that's not a good reason to read this fic idk what is, in lilac pajamas, kind of, louis serenades harry, sixties au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 11:45:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6078150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshireflowers/pseuds/cheshireflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A 60's AU in which Louis serenades Harry for Valentine's Day. Featuring Niall, Liam and Zayn as The Four Seasons/The Three Stooges.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Louis and The Four Seasons

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and thank you for being interested in my tiny little ficlet!  
> I would highly recommend listening to  
> 'Sherry' by Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons while you read...  
> You don't have to, but it gives you feel for the song and what kind of  
> serenading Lou is doing!

                The idea comes to Louis out of nowhere. It’s an average day, really – he and the lads are out and about, getting up to mischief around town. The radio in Zayn’s old Buick is blasting, as usual, and the Four Seasons’ latest song has just come over the air. That’s when it hits him.

                “Oh my god,” he says, and at first none of the boys pay him any mind. The radio is loud, and none of them really hear him, anyhow. He makes his internal crisis a bit more obvious a moment later, though, true to his dramatic nature as always. “Lads, I’m having a crisis,” he says, louder, and Zayn glances away from the road long enough to blink at him.

                “What are you on about, Tommo?” he asks, and to convey the seriousness of the situation, Louis turns to grasp Zayn’s arm with one hand (gently, because he is driving, after all).

                “The song, this song, yeah?” he explains. Zayn only looks more confused, however, so he elaborates. “Sherry. It has the same ring as Harry. You follow? You could sing this song with Harry’s name in place of Sherry’s, it’d be brilliant.”

                By this point, all of the boys are looking at Louis as though he’s a bit daft; his sentence had contained such an amount of rhyming that it had sort of thrown them all for a loop, but a moment or two later Liam leans forward from his place in the back seat, brows raised.

                “Alright, obviously this ‘crisis’ is Harry related—“ he begins, about to bother Louis for more information when Niall cuts him off.

                “Aren’t all of Lou’s meltdowns Harry related?”

                Zayn and Liam snort at Niall’s quip while Louis groans, but before Louis can turn and hit Niall over the head with whatever firm object happens to be nearest to him, Liam goes on. “Anyways… obviously this has something to do with Harry, and singing the song about Harry, yeah? What are you getting at, Lou?” he asks, and Louis grins.

                “I’ve been looking for a way to impress him, yeah? And Valentine’s Day is soon. Please be honest with me and tell me if this idea is absolutely mental, but… what if I sang the song _to_ Harry?” Lou hedges, turning to face Liam and Niall, now. Both boys are still looking at him like he’s a bit crazy, which isn’t too promising, so he immediately jumps to his own defense. “I mean, with his name substituted, obviously, because it wouldn’t make much sense otherwise… C’mon, lads, I thought it was an alright plan.”

                Liam at least cracks a smile at that, which reassures Louis a bit. Regardless, though, his next words leave Louis’ hopes a bit shot. “It’s a lovely idea, Lou, I’m sure he’d love it,” he begins, and reaches to give his mate a good-natured nudge, “But… Frankie Valli? You think you could pull that off?”

                As he considers Liam’s words, Louis deflates a bit; he’d never even considered the fact that he probably didn’t have the chords to pull some of the notes that Frankie Valli had obviously mastered. Slumping back into his seat, he fidgets a bit as he responds to Liam. “Gee, thanks for the ego boost, mate,” he muses. He hears Liam grunt in response to that, and a moment later the kindhearted lad leans forward, again, and claps Louis on the shoulder.

                “Oi, that’s not what I was saying, Lou,” he reassures his friend, and Louis makes a face and shrugs.

                “Even if that’s not how you meant it, you’re probably right, yeah? I don’t have that kind of vocal ability. What would be the point in serenading him if I slaughtered the song I was trying to sing to him?” he ponders rhetorically. It was true, after all – even having been in chorus for the better part of his high school years, he’d always had been a tenor at best, and the Four Seasons’ esteemed lead vocalist was easily a high soprano.

                With a soft hum, Liam sighs and sits back in his seat, but long before the subject can change, Niall is leaning forward and grinning at Louis. “Well, I think you should do it, Tommo. It really is a great idea, and honestly – if Harry’s got a romantic bone in his body, he’ll fall for you on the spot,” the Irish lad encourages, and Louis can’t help smile a bit. Niall has always been extremely supportive of the massive crush he has on Harry, and it really is very hard not to give in to the blonde boy’s positive energy and go right along with whatever he says. Really, he’s lucky as punch to have found a group of lads who accept the fact that he’s, well… not the straightest lad in the city. While the open-mindedness of the general population has improved over the years, it _is_ 1962\. Needless to say, the ratio of people who would be willing to accept him for who he is is probably about ten to one.

                “You think so?” he prompts, and Niall reaches to punch his shoulder, much less gently than Liam had nudged him moments ago.

                “Hell yeah, I think so!” he says, and Louis snorts.

                “Zayn?” he asks, turning toward the lad in the driver’s seat with an expectant look on his face. The eldest of his friends had been relatively quiet throughout the conversation, and Louis was rather curious to know his opinion on the matter. Zayn tended to be the most romantic of their friend group, though he generally kept quiet about it.                

                For a brief moment or two Zayn gives nothing away, staring out at the road ahead of him with a rather stoic look on his face. By the third moment, Louis is beginning to worry. Before he can speak up, though, the dark-haired lad shakes his head and chuckles, and there’s a promising smile on his face as he reaches to thump Louis in the chest. “I’d say go for it, Lou. To hell with Frankie Valli and his falsetto,” he answers, and Louis grins, megawatt.

                “Bloody brilliant,” he breathes, and rubs his hands together a bit to expel some energy – because shit, this is actually a _thing_ , now. This absurd idea is actually hatching into a genuine plan. To be quite honest, he hadn’t thought he would ever come up with something grand enough to woo Harry in the name of Valentine’s – frankly, he was probably one of the least romantic lads this side of the country. But he’ll be damned, really and truly, if he doesn’t at least try.

                “On that note, then, I’ve just got one question for you boys,” he begins, and smirks when the lads all look toward him and squint. “How willing would the lot of you be to be my ‘Four Seasons’?”

                The response he gets is a collective groan, and honestly, he’d expected nothing less; though his friends do share his love for music, they’d never been quite as _formal_ about it as he was. In the end, though, they all reluctantly nod their heads and agree, and honestly, Louis doesn’t know how he managed to end up with three of the best lads in all of England as friends.

-

                Louis’ friends are the worst, honestly.

                Alright, well – maybe not the _worst_ , because they are still on board with this whole schmoozey plan of his, but on the list of really, very, extremely irritating people, Zayn and Niall and Liam are most definitely somewhere near the top.

                “Lads! Can we please focus for a bloody second?” Louis snaps. He’s done his best to be patient up until now, but since the boys had put on their suits (yes, suits, because this is most definitely a highly important performance), not a thing had gotten done. It’s February 13th, precisely 24 hours before the big day, and they’ve barely gotten a thing done. Their get together today was _meant_ to be a dress rehearsal of sorts; they had practiced their vocals a couple of times prior, and for the most part it was coming together well. They still need to put the actual performance together, though, and Louis is not about to try and woo the boy of his dreams with a sub-par presentation.

                Zayn is the first to stop his mucking about and turn to look at Louis, but the look on his face isn’t exactly promising – his smug smile absolutely preludes some sort of sarcastic comment, Louis thinks, so he beats his mate to the punch. “I really, really want this to go over well, alright?” he says, and Zayn seems to soften a bit. “Valentine’s Day is tomorrow, and I really, really like this bloke, and I’d really like to walk into this feeling somewhat prepared.”

                By the end of Louis’ sentence Liam and Niall have stopped their cackling as well, and all of them are looking at him with this mushy, sentimental expression on their faces, now. It’s quite uncomfortable, really, and Louis is about to cut the tension with a sarcastic comment of his own when Zayn speaks up.

                “Alright, alright. We’re sorry, Lou,” he begins, and Louis grumbles as he fidgets with the hem of his suit jacket. “We’ll make a real effort, yeah?”

                “We will,” Niall pipes up, “but honestly. You couldn’t just dress us up in these monkey suits and expect the lot of us _not_ to impersonate the three stooges.”

                At that, Louis snorts, because honestly? It’s true. And under any other circumstances, he’d probably have been doing the exact same thing. All things considered, he can definitely cut his friends a little slack. But he truly does want to get down to business, and soon. “Yeah, yeah… you lot do a wonderful impersonation. I just don’t do this kind of thing, yeah? So… I want to do it right, I guess. This one time. Go out with a bang and that.”

                The boys nod at that, and with a grin, Liam reaches to clap him on the shoulder. The way he’s looking at Louis is still a bit uncomfortably gooey, but there’s certainly hope in it – Liam is a passionate lad, after all. If he’s invested in something, it more than likely gets done. He’s the reason they even _have_ suits, after all – his dad works at a formal-wear shop, and he’d been kind enough to let the lads get away with “renting” a set of identical suits for a couple of nights. “We get it, Tommo. Impressing H is important to you. Let’s practice, yeah? We’ll get it right,” he urges, and Louis can’t help but smile.

                “Yeah,” he says, and turns back toward his mum’s old record player to set the song back to the beginning once more. He had been in the process of explaining the choreography he had been considering to the boys when they had started their shenanigans, and thinking on it now, he snorts and shakes his head. “I think the choreography is a bit much, though. I’ll just have you lads stand there and sing and look pretty. But not too pretty, I’m the one Harry’s meant to fall in love with.”

                With that, they all have a laugh, and it’s back to work.

-

                “Lou, calm down. Honestly, you’re going to do fine,” Liam says as he gives his friend a pat on the back. The lot of them have been practicing together all morning, and all morning Louis has been nitpicking _every_ detail of their rehearsal – going off on tangents about things like the lads’ harmonies sounding wonky, or their formation looking off because of their height differences. The latest meltdown he’s having is about his _own_ notes sounding pitchy, and as annoyed as the lads have been with him all day, they can’t help but feel a bit of sympathy for their mate when he starts looking like he’s about to be sick.

                The look on Louis’ face when he looks up at Liam is rather pitiful, and at that point Zayn chimes in as well.

                “You’ve been working harder than any of us, mate. You’ve been singing this bloody song under your breath for two whole weeks – don’t bother arguing with me, because I _have_ heard you – and you’re going to nail it. It’s going to be alright,” he encourages, and Louis seems to perk up a bit at that. He nods, at the least, and takes a deep breath.

                “Yeah, yes, alright,” he murmurs. It’s ridiculous, really – they’ve not even gotten on their way to Harry’s house, yet; they’re hours from being at that point, and already he’s having a nervous breakdown. “I’m sorry, lads. It’s just… today’s the day. We’re doing this, yeah? I’m doing this, and it’s like… really, really huge. It feels huge.”

                Niall is grinning, megawatt, by the time Louis finishes speaking. “It is huge, Lou. You’ve been pinin’ after this boy for months now, and you’re finally doin’ something about it, yanno? It’s gonna feel like you’re taking some huge leap, but believe me. I’ve seen that way that lad looks at you. Ya walk in the room and he starts beamin’, Tommo. It’s probably not as big of a leap as you think.”

                For a moment, Louis and Liam and Zayn sort of gape, just a bit. In all of the time the four of them had spent together, none of them had ever heard something so profound come out of the Irish boy’s mouth – the majority of what he talked about consisted of pints and food and birds, and to hear him spew something so genuinely heartfelt is a bit of a shock to all of them.

                “Thanks, Nialler,” Louis says, merely to break the silence. Niall simply nods and punches Louis’ shoulder as usual, cackling a bit as he does so.

                “I believe in you, mate,” he says, and Louis can’t help but smile along with him.

                He’s going to be on his way to Harry’s house rather soon, and honestly, he needs all the confidence he can get. As boisterous and sure of himself as he usually is, he doesn’t think he’s ever been quite so nervous about something. Given, it could have quite a bit to do with the fact that he and Harry had met in one of his chorus classes; the lad knows as much about vocal quality and control as he does, and he’s just a bit worried that he might notice and disapprove of the small imperfections in their performance just as much as Louis does himself. He’s got to forget about all of that for the time being, though – if he’s going to make it through this alive he’s got to stop thinking so much and step up his game.

                So that’s exactly what he does – as forged as his confidence might be, he puffs up his chest and smiles at his friends, and as he goes on to explain to Liam how he might draw a bit more ‘ _oomph’_ out of the bass line, he’s feeling significantly less nauseous.

-

                Louis feels like he’s going to vomit. Okay, not _really_ – perhaps he’s not actually going to be sick, but he does feel a bit like he might faint.

                For a good while, his front of faux confidence had done him good, but now that they’re actually just a few minutes from Harry’s house, he’s not doing too well at all. Naturally, the boys are giving him the best pep talk they’ve got – of course they are, because they’re brilliant – but even that hasn’t been enough to break through the anxiety he’s feeling.

                “I’m doing this, fuck, shit, I’m going to do this right now and I’m going to look like a fool,” he mutters, raking one hand through his hair and shaking his head. It’s absurd, really – it’s almost like he’s _scared_ of Harry, which is just… _what_? He’s been good friends with the lad long enough, even flirted with him a time or two, but here he is, panicking like a 13-year-old girl who’s about to pass a love note to her crush. Louis is a 13-year-old girl.

                “Lou, calm the fuck down, yeah? You’re ruining your hair,” Zayn says. The lad is right; with all of his fussing, Louis had definitely destroyed the quiff that Zayn had been kind enough to help him style. It was sort of hanging onto his forehead, now, with an odd sort of swirl due to the product that had been put in it to keep it upright.

                “Bloody hell, I’m batting a thousand here, aren’t I?” he says with a dry laugh, and wipes his sweaty palms on his trousers. Zayn just smirks, though, and sighs as he pats Louis on the back.

                “Don’t worry about it. It suits you, yeah?” he encourages. “I think it was a bit too… starchy, the way it was before.”

                At that, Louis laughs a bit – Zayn probably isn’t wrong, after all. He’s never really been one for gussying himself up, for any occasion; he much prefers his old jean jacket, a stretched white tee, and a pair of torn up 501s. Most of the lads in this day and age preferred those absurd bell-bottom trousers, or turtle-neck sweaters, or – god forbid – horrid _flower-power_ style tops split halfway down the front. Louis simply could not bring himself to conform to what might generally be considered trendy.

                “Really, though. Let’s slow down. We’ve got a bit of time, so we’re going to stop for a bit, and you’re going to have a smoke. And then we’re going to walk the rest of the way to H’s house so you can steal his heart,” Zayn says matter-of-factly. There’s a rather smug smile on his handsome face, but Louis only shakes his head and continues to walk.

                “I can’t smoke right now, Z,” he argues, “If Harry _happens_ to want to kiss me tonight, I don’t want to taste like tobacco.”

                In response to that, Niall laughs out loud and Liam makes a slightly disgusted face. Louis has to smirk in response to his mate’s discomfort – if any of them are starchy, he thinks that it’s definitely Liam.

                “My god. You’re whipped, Tommo. Real ball-and-chain type stuff,” Niall teases, and Louis retaliates by groaning and swinging a fist towards the Irish lad’s gut. Niall dodges the hit, of course, and continues to bellow with laughter.

                “Alright, children,” Zayn mocks as he takes Louis by the arm, effectively stopping him from walking any further. “I’m being serious, yeah? Let’s take a breather. If you blaze into this without calming yourself down first it’ll be a disaster.”

                “I think Zayn’s right,” Liam chimes in, and resituates the radio he’s been carrying. It’s no surprise – Liam tends to agree with Zayn on most occasions. If he didn’t know any better, Louis would have accused the pair of them of having a fling of their own in the works.

                “Alright. You win,” he muses, raising his hands in surrender. “We do have to get on our way soon, though. The radio show the song’s meant to play over is going to start in 10 minutes.”

                “We will. But first,” Zayn starts, and reaches to pluck a pack of cigs from his waistband. Louis makes a face when Zayn opens the pack and holds it out to him, but takes a cigarette and holds it out for Zayn to light nonetheless.

                “I don’t know why you insist on poisoning me. You’re a horrible influence,” Louis mutters as he takes a drag. He’s not going to admit it here and now, but the nicotine definitely does calm his nerves a bit. He just hopes that his breath won’t be completely awful later, should it end up mattering.

                “Bugger off,” Zayn mutters, and lights up his own cig. “You’re going to thank me later and you know it.”

                They spend a moment like that; Zayn and Louis puffing on their cigarettes and Niall and Liam standing at a safe distance, doing their best to avoid having ashes flicked onto their suits. It’s happened before, after all. Louis has to admit that it is rather calming to be able to _stop_ for a moment; to stop thinking so much about this massive sense of responsibility that’s been weighing on him for weeks.

                Eventually, though, they wrap up their smoke break, and Zayn claps Louis on the shoulder as they straighten up and move to get on their way.

                “Better?” the dark-haired lad asks, slinging an arm around his friend’s shoulder, and Louis smiles.

                “Yeah, yeah. Better.”

                “Good!” Niall exclaims, and claps his hands together. “Now we can nail this, and you and Harry can get the hell on with it. Get a room and fall into a bed of roses together or summat.”

                “Niall!” Liam scolds, but Liam’s ridiculous parental instincts hardly even register with Louis. Before any of the lads can say another word, he’s gone white as a sheet and stopped in his tracks once again. With that, the attention is back on him, and when Zayn asks him what exactly is wrong, he groans aloud.

                “I forgot the bloody _roses_!” he yelps, and Liam and Zayn both turn to jab Niall in the ribs.

-

                They’re standing in Harry’s front yard, finally. It had taken a bit of convincing for them to get Louis moving again, obviously, but they were currently quite limited on time, so most of the convincing had consisted of the lads hauling Louis along with them, reassuring him that it was completely alright that he didn’t have any flowers for Harry. He had accepted it eventually, though the majority of that acceptance had come about because Niall had attempted to make up for his blunder by stopping and picking him a bouquet of tulips and dandelions and daisies from one of Harry’s neighbor’s yards.             

                And honestly, Louis hadn’t been cross with Niall in the first place – the blonde boy hadn’t been responsible for bringing Harry flowers. That had been _his_ responsibility.

                “C’mon then, we’ve only got a few minutes,” Zayn says, urging Louis forward. Liam has spent the last couple of minutes tuning the radio to the correct station and adjusting the volume, and according to the evening show’s hosts, “Sherry” was set to play as soon as the commercial break was finished.

                Louis nods, and he makes it so far as taking an unprompted step forward, but the moment he cocks his arm back to toss the pebble in his hand at Harry’s window, he finds himself a bit panic-stricken.

                It’s all very _real_ , suddenly; he’s doing this. As soon as he tosses this pebble, Harry is going to pull back the curtains and look out the window. He’s going to _see_ Louis, and hear him much more than likely slaughter this song. This is actually going to happen.

                “Go on, Lou,” Niall urges, sounding a bit frantic. Louis comes back around, then, registers that the radio hosts are talking again, and with a sudden rush of adrenaline, he hurls the pebble toward Harry’s window. It’s a bit more forceful than he had probably intended – it doesn’t break the window, thank god, but the sound the small rock makes when it collides with the glass echoes loudly enough that Louis winces a bit.

                It’s effective, though, because a moment later the light inside of the bedroom flickers on, and Louis can see Harry’s silhouette shuffling toward the window. His heart skips a bit at that, and _shit_ – he’s fucked. He’s really and truly fucked.

                He doesn’t have time to think about how fucked he is, though, because in the next second the curtains are pulled back and the window is opening. Harry is there, and the unmistakable first notes of “Sherry” are crackling over the small radio Liam is holding.

 _“Harry, Harry baby, Harry, Harry baby,”_ he sings, and mentally kicks himself because his first notes are so, so pitchy. He can’t stop now, though; he’s gotten this far and he’s got to see this through, now.

“ _Ha-a-a-a-a-a-ry baby, Ha-a-rry, can you come out tonight?_ _Ha-a-a-a-a-a-ry baby, Ha-a-rry, can you come out tonight?_ ”

                For a moment or two he simply can’t bring himself to look up; he spends the next couple of lines correcting his pitch, and positioning his makeshift bouquet properly against his chest.

  _“(Why don't you come out?)”_

_“– to my twist party?”_

_“(Come out!)”_

_“–where the bright moon shines?”_

_“(Come out!)”_

_“We'll dance the night away, I'm gonna make you mi-yi-yi-yine!”_

By the time the first verse is through, Louis has built a decent amount of confidence – his notes are sounding decent, as much as he might be struggling to actually hit them, and his hands have stopped shaking quite so much. It’s not until Zayn reaches out and nudges him that he actually looks up, though. He looks toward his mate, first, as he continues to sing, and upon seeing Zayn pointing toward Harry, blinks, collects his wits, and turns his head toward the window.

He gets a pleasant surprise, then; a _very_ pleasant surprise. Harry looks like an absolute angel, as always. He’s wearing these lilac-colored, silk pajamas that are just _lovely_. But more than that, he’s absolutely _glowing._ There’s a massive smile on his face as he leans out the window just a bit, the few curls that have escaped his messy bun catching the night’s breeze.

 _“Ha-a-a-a-a-a-ry baby, Ha-a-rry, can you come out tonight?”_ Louis sings, then, the smile on his face growing to match Harry’s.

“ _(Come, come, come out tonight, come, come, come out tonight),_ ”

_“You-oo-ooh better ask your mama, tell her everything is all right!”_

Louis is all but crooning, now, and just once, he even dares to wink at Harry. There’s a bit too much distance between them for him to see properly, but Louis swears a lovely blush decorates Harry’s cheeks as he smiles down at them.

_“(Why don't you come out?)”_

_“– with your curls done up?”_

_“(Come out!)”_

_“Mmm, you look so fine,”_

_“(Come out!)”_

_“Move it nice and easy, oh, you make me lose my mind!_

_Ha-a-a-a-a-a-ry baby, Ha-a-rry, can you come out tonight?”_

_“(Come, come, come out tonight! Come, come, come out tonight…)”_

                The song is over before Louis knows it, and soon enough, the radio show’s hosts are back, rattling on again about something or other. It’s only then that it occurs to Louis that he’d never made any sort of post-serenade plan, and really… what exactly is he meant to do now? Liam is switching the radio off soon enough, and what they’re left with is a fairly awkward silence. Louis shuffles backward a bit, fidgeting awkwardly as he glances down at the slightly wilted bouquet in his hand.

                He’s just about to hold it up toward the window, maybe even throw in a cheesy comment about how Harry’s smile could make flowers grow, because damn it, he’s got to do _something_. He can’t let the moment fizzle out now.

He never gets the chance, though, because the next time he looks up toward the window, Harry is gone. The bedroom’s light is still on, and the window is still open, but the curly lad’s silhouette is most definitely missing.

For a brief moment or two, Louis panics, and wonders irrationally if Harry had been so appalled that he’d turned and made a break for it, or gone to call the authorities on him. He doesn’t have to worry long, though, because not even a minute later Harry sprinting out the front door and making a beeline for Louis.

Before he can even register what’s happening, the taller boy has thrown himself into Louis’ arms and buried his face against his neck. It registers with Lou after a moment that Harry is hugging him, _tightly_ , and though it takes him a moment or two to regroup, he eventually manages to hug the lovely boy back.

“D’you like it..?” he asks, softly. He feels Harry giggle into his neck, then, and he can’t help but smile.

“Lou, are you kidding? That was bloody brilliant,” he breathes, and straightens up to look at Louis properly a couple of seconds later. “Not to mention the sweetest thing anybody has ever done for me. Who knew you were Frankie Valli in disguise?”

Louis is the one blushing, now; Harry must _really_ like him, he thinks, because he knows for a fact that at least half of his notes had been absolutely horrid. He finds that he can’t actually formulate a good response to Harry’s lovely compliments, so he does the only other thing that feels appropriate, and leans in to kiss Harry’s cheek.

It’s then that Harry shuffles a bit closer, hands wandering from Louis’ shoulder blades toward his waist and settling low, there. Louis responds accordingly, looping his arms around Harry’s neck and pressing close as he smiles up at his beau.

“I think that might be our cue to leave, lads,” Liam pipes up, then, and Louis snorts. Honestly, leave it to Liam Payne to ruin what could possibly be the most pivotal moment of his entire life. He can’t even be upset, though, really; his absurd plan had worked out, and Harry was here, looking at him like he might just kiss him senseless any second. How could he _possibly_ be in a sour mood?

“God, I almost forgot you lot were here,” Harry says with a laugh, and abruptly separates himself from Louis in favor of walking toward the boys. Louis blinks at that, and watches with surprise (and perhaps a bit of bitterness) as H makes approaches each of his friends, one by one, and kisses their cheeks.

“You all are so lovely for helping Louis out. Thank you,” he says, looking genuinely indebted to Louis’ mates. Liam, Niall and Zayn seem to be just as shocked as Louis, thankfully; they smile, though, and accept Harry’s thanks humbly. Niall grins a moment later, though, and points an accusative finger toward Louis.

“I’ve known your boyfriend for less than five minutes and he’s already nicer to me than you are, Tommo,” he says, and honestly, Louis could take the bouquet he’s holding and stuff Niall’s mouth with it. He had asked himself moments ago how he could possibly be in a sour mood, and apparently the answer to that question had been ‘by seeing Harry act affectionately toward other people’.

“Well, I wasn’t aware that he kissed _everyone_ ’ _s_ cheeks, Niall,” he mutters, averting his eyes. It’s completely irrational and he knows it, but… he wants Harry to be _his_.

Harry walks back toward him, then, and when the boy’s hands settle upon his hips, gentle and warm, he really can’t help but meet Harry’s eyes. “Not _everyone_ , love,” he reassures Louis, and kisses the smaller lad’s forehead. A moment later he stoops over a bit, a mischievous smile on his face as he presses a warm kiss to Louis’ pulse. “Besides, _you’re_ the one staying the night.”

Louis must become visibly flustered at that, because it’s not even Liam that chimes in, this time – it’s Zayn.

“Time to go! C’mon lads, let’s leave them to it,” he chirps, taking both Niall and Liam by the arm and beginning to drag them off. Liam goes willingly, obviously; it’s Niall who looks a bit disgruntled.

“Bollocks, I wanted to see them kiss,” he argues, but Zayn only continues to haul him away.

“Plenty of time for that in the future, Nialler. I think Tommo is about to score,” Zayn remarks, and it’s the last thing Louis hears him say before his mates are off and disappearing around the corner. In the next moment, Harry is bursting out laughing; his arms are tight around Louis as he rests his cheek atop the older lad’s head, and Louis can’t help but laugh along with him. There’s a cheeky grin on his face as he settles close to his lovely beau, and presses his own warm kiss to Harry’s collar bone.

“Your friends really are lovely,” Harry says, and nuzzles into Louis’ hair. Louis grunts in response and shakes his head.

“You won’t think that once you’ve spent more than ten minutes with them,” he insists, and leans back a bit to eye Harry. He’s met with a smile, sweeter than usual, and a pair of sparkling green eyes, and he can’t help the flush that settles onto his cheeks, really.

“We’ll worry about that later, though, yeah?” Harry muses, and raises one hand to brush his fingertips along Louis’ jawline, effortlessly coaxing his beau into tilting his chin upward. “I’d like to concentrate on my beautiful valentine, now.”

There’s a moment of suspense, a sense of anticipation that makes Louis heart race just before their lips meet. When they do, though… _god,_ are there fireworks. It’s everything that Louis has been waiting for. It happens slowly, at first; it’s perfect, and tender, and sweet, and everything that Louis could possibly have asked for. Harry’s thumb is brushing his jawline while his opposite hand grips Louis’ waist. His own hands have found their way to Harry’s shoulders, and eventually, one moves to curl at the back of the taller boy’s neck. He toys with the bits of loose hair there, which leads to Harry inhaling sharply, and Louis seizing this opportunity to lick tentatively into his new boyfriend’s mouth. Harry responds delightfully, parting his lips a bit and flicking his tongue against Louis’ gently.

They go on like that for a good moment or two, getting up close and personal and kissing, slow and wet and sweet. When they finally do come apart, they’re both smiling almost giddily – it doesn’t matter that Louis has damn near plucked Harry’s hair from its bun (he just likes to tangle his fingers up in those curls, honestly), or that Louis’ suit has gone a bit askew thanks to Harry’s wandering hands. For the time being, the world consists of the two of them.

“Mm, Haz,” Louis murmurs, and shuffles a bit closer. They spend a good few moments like that, standing in the middle of Harry’s lawn, holding each other close. It’s a lovely moment, really, and Louis can’t help but think that he could probably spend hours this way; that is, until Harry speaks again.

“You taste a bit like smoke,” he murmurs, and Louis’ eyes widen.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he curses, and takes a small step back from Harry. He covers his mouth as he peers up at his curly beau, searching for any sign of disgust. “I’m going to kill Zayn.”

Despite Louis’ apparent distress, though, Harry grins. He reaches to draw Louis’ hand away from his mouth, only to lead it to his own lips instead. “I never said I didn’t like it, did I?” he murmurs, and _shit_. Louis swears he can feel his heart rocket into his throat.

                “I suppose you didn’t,” he responds, a nearly bashful smile on his face. And really – _bashful_? What has this stupidly lovely boy done to him?

                “Why don’t we go inside? It’d be rude of me to leave my beautiful date out on the lawn, and besides... I’ve got to put those – er, _flowers_ in a vase.” Harry suggests with a sly grin, and again, Louis groans and mentally face-palms. Said flowers had ended up on the ground, somewhere in between their first embrace and their brief make-out session, and they were sort of destroyed, now. Louis thinks he must have stepped on them at some point.

                “I don’t expect you to keep them, love. Niall picked the bouquet – quite literally – because I’m an absolute dolt who forgot to buy roses,” Louis explains. Harry only laughs happily, though, and – bless his heart – bends to pick the tattered bouquet of garden flowers and weeds up off of the lawn.

                “I want to keep them, though,” he says, and if Louis melts just a little bit, no one has to know about it.

                “Honestly, love. You’ve already endured my mediocre singing and kissed me breathless on your front lawn. I won’t be upset if you don’t keep the flowers,” he insists, but Harry only shakes his head.

                “You’re not going to talk me out of it,” he sings, and takes Louis’ hand in his as he turns and heads for the house. “Now let’s go. I _really_ want to get you out of that suit.”

                Harry’s casual flirtation leaves Louis feeling a bit light-headed, and really, it’s all he can do to nod and shuffle a bit closer to Harry as he follows the lovely boy up the front steps.

                As they make their way into the kitchen, and he watches Harry put his flowers into a small glass cup with a bit of water (because the vase had ended up being too big), he reminds himself to thank his friends for helping him win the heart of the loveliest lad in the world, and Frankie Valli for getting him laid.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna go ahead and dedicate this fic to Emily, because her  
> 27 cents worth of commission was probably 80% of the  
> reason I got this done.  
> On that note... Goddamn! I actually finished and posted a fic!  
> Thank you guys so much for reading! Comments would be  
> much appreciated. :)


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